


Caia's Blessing

by Sarobando



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal, Anal Sex, Blood As Lube, Bukkake, Exhibitionism, Group Sex, M/M, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Voyeurism, a -teaspoon- of C&BT, blink and you'll miss it for: collaring/whoring/references to human-on-non-human sex/beatings, emasculation i guess, fantasy blasphemy, rape into not-rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:48:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23013514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarobando/pseuds/Sarobando
Summary: A male priest of the goddess of beauty is a rare thing--a treasure, and one well worth plundering.
Kudos: 34





	Caia's Blessing

**Author's Note:**

> In case you missed the three rape tags, this fic has sex in it where one participant isn't _terribly_ into it. At first. It's also got some _pretty_ problematic views expressed in it that I swear are not the opinions of the author, and instead are just opinions I happen to find hot. Honest. Scout's honour.

Tucked away in the foothills of Mount Rhododendron is a temple. It overlooks the road through the pass, meant to be a showing of the gods' protection for travellers. Moreover, it was a temple devoted to Caia, She of Beauty and Nature, and stood amidst a copse of peach trees in bloom, its petals drifting like snow all throughout spring. It is lauded by traveller and pilgrim alike as being a beautiful sight: the scenery, the temple... and the priestesses; for Caia, Mother of All, presides over births and adores children. Therefore for her to accept in service any but women in their primes of fertility and loveliness is rare indeed.

So it happened, at that temple, that such an exception had occurred: a man resides there. None but the priestesses are privy to seeing him in person, as he is locked away in reverent prayer, but a rumour persists that he was accepted into Caia's service for being a young man of such marked beauty that she loathed to turn him away when he devoted himself to her. Though no temple truly has a leader, he nevertheless became its de facto head priest, advising in religious matters and presiding over rites as the most knowledgeable in all matters of Caia and her teachings.

It came as little surprise then, that he was the one to receive a vision from her one day. In one moment he was in silent contemplation, and in another images flashed before his eyes, weapons, blood, fire, the temple laid to waste, the air thick with ash... and people. Strange people brandishing blades, torches in hand, bloodlust and plain lust in their eyes. The moment the vision had cleared from his mind, he'd leapt to his feet, ran through the temple telling everyone to leave with all haste for shelter in the next town over.

He didn't say why. He didn't explain why he was staying behind, but the priestesses knew; he felt as much as they that he'd become the protector of the temple. Caia had seen fit to show him the vision, so it was only fitting he stay to defend her temple to the last.

The band of men arrived not two days later, in the blood-red evening. He saw their coming for many minutes down the coverless road, but the men did not hurry despite this. It was plain enough to see that the only way down from the temple was a laborious serpentine path... or a leap into the canyon pass some fifty feet below. Had he left the second he saw them, they would only need to wait on the road for his arrival. He had no plans to. Instead he waited in the temple's vaulted receiving hall, eyes trained on the oaken double doors that made up the front entrance as the setting sun's light stained the marble.

The doors opened, calmly, as if there were a visitor rather than a warband. The priest squared his shoulders, drew a breath. The warriors filed in, one after the other, until twenty-odd men filled the temple hall. The last to come in was let through to the front of the crowd, a statuesque and lean man, hair black as pitch and bone-straight, tied away from his face at the nape. Had the priest not lifted his eyes, he'd have been looking him square in the collarbone, that was how much he towered over him. When he spoke, the priest took pains not to shudder, as his voice was a gentle and thunderous baritone with a quality that rattled his very bones, "Call out your priestesses from hiding, or we will smoke them out."

The priest drew up to his fullest height, putting him about level with the warrior's Adam's apple. "They are gone already." At the sound of his voice there was a stirring in the crowd.

The warrior raised his brows, but his eyes remained hard. "Do not lie to us thinking we know nothing of your people's ways. We knew of this place specifically, were told that this temple is devoted a goddess of women and so housed only young women. Let us take them, and we will leave this place unrazed."

The priest looked back evenly. "I can say nothing else. I have sent the priestesses away. I knew of your coming and so made sure you'd never have the chance to catch them. Search the temple if you will. They are not here."

The foremost warrior's expression soured, and he waved at a pair of men to his right. They went different ways down the temple halls at a run, their footfalls echoing in the long minutes they hunted. Eventually they returned, empty-handed, and in a strange tongue the priest did not understand presumably informed the warrior as such. He seemed to consider this for a moment, then said something else to them.

They started toward the priest, and in his first outward showing of emotion, he balked and backed away. "I've proven you have nothing to gain here!" he said, already rather quaint voice rising in pitch. "You waste your own time!"

His protests did little, the two quickly closing the distance and each grabbing an elbow. He had perhaps a second in which to struggle before a kick to the back of his knee threw him into a kneel. A cold steel sword's edge nestled against his jugular silenced any complaints. He squeezed his eyes shut, lips moving in silent prayer, expecting at any second to feel the blade draw across his throat.

He finished the prayer, and it was not a short one. His brow furrowed, and slowly he opened his eyes again. His sight filled with the warrior, crouched in front of him, head tilted and eyes roving over him. His confused frown deepened. His icy blue eyes met the warrior's vivid green. The warrior's hand, gloved in black leather, reached forward to his face. The priest choked a noise of distaste, but his wriggling was stilled by an insistent reminder from the sword. The hand caught his chin, tilted his head even further back, the skin of his neck scraping worrisomely as it stretched against the razor edge.

"I'd thought they didn't let boys into this goddess's temple," the warrior mused as the priest searched his face for a sign of where this was going. "But... I think I understand. Don't we?" The warband shifted once again, in the same way they had when he'd first spoken. He thought it'd been because of the bad news he broke. Had it been... something else? "We heard other stories of your order as well. That... Caia, yes? Is a goddess of mothers, of children, and indeed... of child _making_."

Trepidation chilled the priest's spine. The warrior continued idly, gaze wandering steadily lower, "But... I imagine they left you out of those rites, hm? Studied... only the theory and none of the practicals?" The warband rumbled a collective chuckle and the priest pressed his lips together to keep from gasping for air. "Enough about you though. We know so much about you, and you nothing about us. So let me enlighten you on a certain aspect of Lyk'than culture."

The warrior nodded to the man threatening the priest's throat. Then, in the same second, the priest sighed to be free from death's jaws and squealed in shock as the warrior dragged him forward by the chin into a kiss. The fingers holding his chin choked up to grasping him by the jaw, and the grip was bruising to keep him still. The hold on his arms were equally inescapable, and he found himself with no recourse but to let this warrior claim his first ever kiss. He hardly heard it over the panicked roar in his head, but the group of men around him were laughing, whistling. The face that once had been white with fear was now flush and burning.

At last he was released, though the hold on his jaw didn't relent. He caught his breath between swollen lips. A sharp tug turned him to look up and meet the warrior's eyes again. "In Lyk'than," he purr-hissed to him, "a beautiful woman slave is rote. Standard. But a beautiful boy slave... is worth his weight in gold."

The priest's vision blurred. His heart had stopped. He thought for a moment that like a small bird he might simply die on the spot from shock. His body refused, the lurch of his pulse starting again making him sick to his stomach and his head spin. He sagged in the grip of his captors. He didn't realise he was crying until he saw a tear fall onto the knee he'd been staring at so absently. 

Pain suddenly shot up his face, and only afterward did he put together than the warrior had slapped him. "Stay with me now," his voice sounded, horrifyingly clearly. "If you'd faint just from that you'll be spending the rest of your natural life unconscious." Fingers combed through his hair before seizing a fistful at the back of his head and dragging him to his feet. "Listen well. You get one last human dignity before your new life begins. So tell me this: your name. I will allow you to keep it. Be grateful."

The priest gritted his teeth. The pain in his scalp was so bright to his confused brain. He missed the near-fainted listlessness already. His answer took too long and his hair was yanked sharply. His tight grunt of pain morphed into "Kalan!" squeezed through his teeth.

"Excellent," was the oily reply, and the hand left his head. "Now that that is done, I'm free to relieve you of your remaining dignities." He tugged at the cinch that kept his priest's robe closed, pulling loose the knot. It fell open, revealing a thin and muscle-less stomach and chest, and the simple cloth trousers beneath. Another quick tug had them falling off his slender hips, and Kalan buckled as he awkwardly tried to close his thighs over his shame while still being held upright. He twisted and strained, eyes slammed shut to avoid seeing the naked lust on the faces of twenty men drinking in his exposed body.

"Enough of your struggles." A gloved hand forced its way between his legs, gathering the whole of his manhood into his palm. Kalan was quick to freeze, but the damage had been done. The warrior clenched, crushing petit cock and little sack in his fist. Kalan wailed that time, loud enough to bounce off the marble walls. The warband roared with laughter as his cries turned to sobbed apologies, but the warrior's face stayed only mildly pleased. He relaxed the grip, just enough to let Kalan catch his breath. He jerked his head at the two men holding him up, and they let him go. His arms fell limply to his sides, taking all his energy to stay standing but not daring to collapse. Then the warrior released him.

Kalan's eyes darted about the room, instinctually searching for an escape he knew didn't exist. There was nowhere to go but toward the throng of men. He wanted so badly to edge away but wanted even less to move a step closer to what seemed like a pack of wolves to him then. Helplessness was sinking like knives into his heart. Instead he hugged himself protectively. Waited. And the warrior chuckled lowly, to his chagrin. "There, see how quickly you're cured of that flight instinct. They say the gods make boys beautiful when they wouldn't cut it as a real man."

White hot rage lanced down his body, and before he could reign himself in he snarled to the warrior's face, "Like you, who prey on women and priests? Yes, how manly!" The easy smile on the warrior's face froze over into something terrifying, and panic tightened Kalan's throat even as he tried to garble an excuse, an apology, anything. The warrior stepped forward, and Kalan shrunk, still not daring to step back.

"If you doubt me," the warrior said, "then I'll prove it." A swift punch to the gut had Kalan doubling over onto his knees, coughing roughly. A boot landed on the small of his back and flattened him onto the ground. "Let it be known that I intended to sell you off." The boot weighed more and more until the priest was struggling to breath. "You could have been a noble's pet. Cared for, pampered even. Now, though... I think my band will agree with me that you _deserve_ worse." The throng shouted agreements, and Kalan couldn't help but glance up at them, eyes going wide as dinner plates to see just how many of them were palming bulges unlike anything he'd ever seen.

"Mouthy little bitch like you wouldn't sell well to the upper class." The clinking of metal fasteners sounded above Kalan's head, and a belt was thrown to the ground pointedly in front of his face.

" _No, no, please_ \--"

"Is this enough of a man for you, Kalan?" The boot left the small of his back and was replaced with a hand, knees straddling his thighs.

" _Caia, please_ \--"

"Forget your old god, little slave. She can't save you in her own temple. I am the master of your life now." The sound of leather parting dragged a raw cry of despair from Kalan, and it sharpened into a keen as hot and rock hard flesh ground on the curve of his ass. His whole body shook. The cock buried between his cheeks and prodded at his entrance. Kalan felt the warrior lean forward, head rocking dangerously against his hole. "Take this moment, Kalan. This is the last moment before I rip your virginity from you, bloodily and painfully."

He was true to his word, and gave Kalan exactly one moment. In the next, his body was being split in half. He screamed, in agony, in terror, in sorrow. White splashed the marble in places around him, onlookers blowing their loads at the pain twisting his face. A hot rivulet of blood ran down the inside of one thigh, a second as more and more length ground forcibly in. A final push seated the cock in him fully, and by that time he'd cried himself hoarse and sobbed breathlessly. The drag back and slam forward was like rubbing sandpaper on the wounds, but his wails had turned to croaks. More and more blood coated the invading manhood, until the going was downright slick.

Then something terrible happened. The warrior leader drove his cock deep into him, and the sound that came out was a moan. It happened again, and the moan was coarse, but louder. More white hit the floor, and the scent enveloped Kalan's senses like incense. He didn't think. He just moved his head, craning it forward, and licked a taste from the stone. It soaked his tongue, coated it in film, hanging thick and masculine and forcing him to smell it every time he drew breath. An unidentifiable noise came from the crowd, and one of the small army kneeled in front of him. A pair of rough hands clamped his head, and a pre-leaking dick was rammed into his mouth. He felt his own jaw relax, his neck go slack. He let the man hold him up, hold him where he wanted him, use his mouth to get off in. It served him well; a few sharp thrusts later and the man's dick was thickening, twitching, and then gushing against the back of his throat, giving him no choice but to swallow or drown.

The weight of a bellyful of semen blossomed like a shot of alcohol. All of a sudden he felt... warm, at ease, even pleased with himself. The massive organ tearing at his tender insides was agony. Agony he wanted more of. His ass cinched, flexed, encouraged his rapist to go harder. A lusty hiss heralded a furious new pace, one that made his own smallish but intensely hard cock grind on the smooth cold stone. In seconds he was creaming himself, finally summoning his voice back for a long, whorish moan that earned him more than a few more cumshots. One even stepped forward and aimed as he did, the majority of his load painting a stripe on Kalan's hair and the later ones basting his face.

He sunk, exhausted, the _smell_ pickling his brain into something mindless, only capable of mewling and cooing with each gut-punching thrust. When at last the warrior leader came, he ground himself in as deep as possible, rope after thick rope flooding him until he felt bloated and swollen. He shivered and twitched in the aftermath, oversensitive cock painfully rubbing against the cum-slick marble. The warrior moved to pull out and he whined and clenched, but the warrior pulled free regardless. The emptiness afterward was hideous. His hole ached.

"At last, the world discovers why Caia loved you so." 

Kalan could hardly think. He was pulled upright, walked outside. They cinched a collar on his neck, tied a rope from the metal ring to their horse, forced him to walk cum-soaked and naked down a well-travelled road for all to see. When night fell they all took their turn in his ass until he couldn't move for the liquid packed inside him. In the morning he sucked them until they had nothing else to give. For a fee they offered him to everyone and everything, travellers, orcs, elves, centaurs. They beat him until he cried and fucked him until he couldn't walk, and he begged for more.

"Is there anything more natural than a beautiful boy happy in the service of men?"


End file.
